


Reign of wolves

by CallMeAlessandra



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Smut, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Queen Daenerys, Sexy Times, What Was I Thinking?, anti jonerys, jon snow/sansa stark - Freeform, jonsa, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeAlessandra/pseuds/CallMeAlessandra
Summary: Being queen certainly hasn't made Sansa's life easier, it was quite the opposite, actually. When Voices against her reign become louder in the North, she has to face the harsh reality that not everyone wants to see her on the throne. While the threat against her rises, she wishes more and more for Jon to finally return to her side. To be with her. Can love heal the deepest wounds in a Soul and Bridge what was destroyed?





	1. A queen in the north and a king beyond the wall

**Author's Note:**

> A king beyond the wall, a queen in the North and Trouble at the horizon… oh Boy...

The war was over. The dragon queen was dead and the Bran the Broken was king of the six realms. The North held its independence under Sansa’s guidance. All was good and right, wasn’t it finally? Well, a few things were finally right, certainly a positive side effect of all those years’ worth of pain, humiliation and nightmares. Yet, queen Sansa, first of her name, queen in the North, eldest daughter of Ned Stark and the red wolf, was not happy at all. Quite the opposite, actually. Her father had always told them that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Her family, her pack had survived the night king, survived Cersei and her treachery and survived the Mad king’s daughter, Deanery’s Targaryen, first of her name and murderer of innocents. But they all paid a high price for their victory. Jon was banned beyond the wall, and Arya left her home to discover what is west of Westeros and Sansa? Sansa was left alone in the cold halls of the castle, Jon and her, fought so hard for. Now, after all the hardship in her life, Sansa realized that home wasn’t the empty stone halls of Winterfell nor the empty bed chambers of her parents she couldn’t step a foot into anymore. Her home was with her family and the price of victory for Sansa, was utter loneliness.

She missed Arya, dearly, but the loss of Jon… dear mother, it hurt so much. Not even the worst cut by Ramsey’s blade could compare to the ache inside Sansa’s chest, while she waited, every evening until her eyes fell close, for a raven from beyond the wall.  
She had lost Brienne, her most trusted advisor and friend. The woman, more knight than any other so called ‘_knights’_ she had always dreamt of as a little girl, was probably swimming in the sapphire waters of Tarth, together with Jaime Lannister, her freshly named husband.

While Sansa had lost and had to let go of dear friends, she gained a very unexpected advisor and friend in Gendry Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and warden of the south. They somehow fell into a routine of friendly companionship, finding aid in each other missing, while missing Arya. Another great advantage of having the warden of the south in her back, was to shut many of the rough, northern high-born lords up, not accepting a woman on the throne.

During the past weeks of rebuilding Winterfell, and starting negotiations concerning the import and export of grain and cattle and other building materials necessary for the villager’s homes and Winterfell itself, it became more and more obvious that Sansa had more people against her than anyone had expected at first. The least of them, was Sansa herself. She had secured the North’s independence and yet she still had many voices against her, more than one protesting openly against her reign and made it extremely hard for her to trade with the high-born lords.

It was past late evening hour and Sansa was sitting in her scholar, staring at an empty parchment paper, while the ink on her quill had dried up long ago. For months she had tried to write Jon. How dearly she missed him, how much she needed his support and his presence, here with her. She needed Jon.

A sudden knock on the wooden door tore her out of her thoughts and her quill fell onto the paper, leaving small patches of half dried ink. Sansa looked down at the paper and cursed silently. Another new trade she had grown into since she had spent so many months with Jon. Cursing no longer bothered her. She didn’t gauge her eyes or blushed at crude words.  
A sharp knock on the door tore Sansa out of her thoughts. In came a lanky boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with wild brown hair and dark eyes. Just like Jon’s.

“My lady, I am sorry to interrupt you at this time of night, but you must come. Quickly.”

Only now she noticed his ashen face and shaking hands. “What happened?”

“My lady, you have to see for yourself.”

_Beyond the wall…_

“Oi, Snow, you need water, you’ve been up there the whole damn day!”

Jon looked up from the wood he was currently shaping into the roof of a new house and looked down at the newly found ground, the free folk and him, had deemed good to start their new settlement on. Children were running around, squealing in joy and laughing about whatever game they had invented today. Jon looked over the edge of the roof to see Naila, holding a cup with ale and a bowl with steaming soup in the other hand, holding it up for him demonstratively.

Naila was one of the first people Jon had started talking to after his banishment. She was a widow who had lost her husband in the battle of Winterfell and who didn’t hold a grudge against him for once. She was older than him, by a few years already, but Jon had found a good friend in her. And in the night, when the terrors of his dreams would overwhelm him, Naila, next to Tormund, was the first person to notice how truly miserable he was.

Jon put the hammer aside and quickly made his way down the ladder and his boots hit the ground with a wet slurping sound. The snow of the long-awaited winter was slowly melting, the air was warmer, and the sun was now peaking through white clouds in the sky.  
While he sat at the makeshift table, eating hot soup and drinking fresh water and ale, he sighed heavily. He could have certainly gotten a worse punishment than this, but he was done with pretending not missing Winterfell. Not missing Sansa. He may be king beyond the wall, but he never wanted the damn crown. He never wanted the crown of the north, nor of Westeros nor of the damn wall. All he wanted, was to go home and be at peace. He had fought enough. He had done enough. He had killed his own flesh and blood. His former lover, aunt and queen. The guilt following his participation in the sacking of King’s Landing and the destruction of the city still haunted him. The guilt was eating him alive, like the greyscale once did Ser Jorah.

“Hey, what’s up with you, hm?”

Naila sat down across from him. “You look… brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.” Jon snapped and grabbed his cup roughly.

Naila’s forehead creased in amusement. “Alright, you’re not brooding, so what’s going on in your mind, your highness?”

“I’m not-,”

“Jon.” Naila said sternly, glaring at him now like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “We’re friends. Tell me, what’s got you in a foul mood today, hm?”

For a long moment, Jon was silent and fought the inner battle, if he should or shouldn’t tell Naila. But the need to finally tell someone who would understand, who wouldn’t judge him or think he showed weakness by admitting he was feeling alone and restless, was so much more compelling to him than staying silent.

He stared at his reflection in his ale, at his long beard and his unkept hair that had also grown significantly. He didn’t recognize himself anymore. He didn’t see Jon Snow or Targaryen or Stark or whoever he was now on that surface. Just a lonely man who lost everything.

“I’m so tired, Naila.” He admitted quietly. “I miss my home and I miss S- I just miss my family.”

Naila looked at him for a moment. One could call it her womanly instinct or maybe just plain logical thinking, but Jon always had had the feeling she knew more than she would let on. In a very unusual sign of compassion, Naila reached overt the table and grabbed Jon’s hand.

“I understand. I miss my husband, too. Every day.”

Husband. Yes, what a fitting description of what he always wanted to be. He wanted to be a husband, a father and a friend to the woman he loved. And now he could never be any of that.

“Have you written her? The queen, I mean. You grew up together, didn’t you?”

_Sansa_. Just thinking about her burnt painfully in his chest. She had been the light and his drive to fight. The battle of Bastards, as many now titled his fight against Ramsay to reclaim Winterfell, the reason why he bowed to Daenerys and why he was still alive. She was the one he had thought about while he stared inside the rotten maw of Viserion spewing blue fire, while he faced death once more. Managing to distract the dead dragon from Arya, was a useful side-effect.

“I tried. But I don’t have any words.”

She seemed to understand. “At night, I miss my husband the most. Not because we liked to-,” Naila cleared her throat. “It was a part of it, of course, but do you know what I miss the most? At night, we would lay next to each other. We would talk and laugh and joke about the most stupid things but also about the most important ones. That’s what I miss. Talking to him, feeling close to him. Now, I look at this empty spot in my cot and he’s not there. Do you know, what I do then?”

Jon was shocked about this deep confession. Naila was a short-sentenced, quiet and all around rough-around-the-edges woman and hearing her admit something so deeply valued to her, made him aware how much she could understand how he felt.

“What is it?”

“I close my eyes and then I remember everything I loved about him. How he smiled and laughed, how he smelt and his voice. I swear, at nights like those, I can feel him with me. I know he’s there and then I talk. I talk about my day, and how much I miss him and what I want him to know. At that moment, I know he’s there and I swear to the gods, I can almost hear him laugh with me sometimes.”

Naila cleared her throat and abruptly stood up, turning her back to Jon. Her voice was hoarse, and Jon knew she was crying.

“You should try that.”

That night, much, much later when all his muscles were screaming and his joints popped in a way that no man’s joints in Jon’s age should do, he laid down in his sleeping cot, and stared at the dark ceiling. He imagined steel grey eyes with a hint of cold blue like the sky in spring and hair as red as a flame. And he heard her voice and could feel her body close to his. With Sansa’s voice in his head, Jon fell into a dreamless sleep.

_Winterfell…_

  
If Sansa had been in a bad mood yesterday, after her meeting with the high-born lords, she was the embodiment of fury today. She stormed into the great hall, her gown and cloak billowing like dark clouds behind her, while she walked past many familiar faces. Her cousin Robyn was already waiting for her, so was Lord Royce and Gendry. They all had been, by coincidence close or at Winterfell, when she sent out the call.

The great hall was empty, except for the already mentioned people, a few other Lords and Sansa.

“Lady Stark, no one has informed us why we’re here.” The conceited voice of Lord Hardborne filled the empty hall. “I have way more important things to do with my time, but spending it here.”

Gendry pushed his chair back, glaring furiously at Lord Hardborne. “Watch your mouth, you ungrateful-“

“Enough!” Sansa’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Lord Hardborne, let me tell you why I have to suffer your presence.”  
Venom dripped from every words Sansa spat at him. She had learnt to master the game of politics and pretending from the best teachers there were, but today she had no patience for it. “Someone burned down our granaries last night. All of them.”

A gasp went around the table. Gendry, who had glared daggers at Lord Hardborne a second before, stared at Sansa with shock written all over his face.

“What?! When?”

“We don’t know yet. The guards watching the granaries were killed and the grain burned completely. We have nothing left.”

“But we have months to cover before the summer arrives!” Lorde Harborne protested loudly. “How are we supposed to eat?”

“How are the villagers supposed to eat?” Gendry cut in. “I think you meant that, didn’t you Lorde Harborne?”

“We don’t have time to argue.” Robyn said. “I will order for grain to be transported to Winterfell right away.”

Sansa gave Robyn a thankful nod. Since their reunion about a year ago, they had talked and set aside their differences, the fact that she had slapped him when he was just a boy with a poisoned mind, still made Sansa feel guilty.

“Thank you, Robyn.”

“I will accompany you, my Lord.”

Sansa watched Robyn and Lord Royce depart, after bowing their heads in respect towards her. “We will try to organize as much grain as possible. Keep your eyes and ears open for any hints on who could have done this.”

“Do you think the Unsullied have a hand in this?” Gendry asked, very much aware of the tension between the North and the Unsullied, who had lost their queen by the hand of Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell.

“The Unsullied are long gone, they agreed with Jon’s banishment. No, I don’t think they had a hand in this.”

“Sansa, what reason could one have to burn down our granaries?” Gendry pondered, a deep crease on his forehead.

Lord Hardborne snorted loudly. “Just poor villagers trying to make their point, nothing more.”

“What point?” Gendry turned towards Harborne with a disgusted look on his face. “Those villagers have no interest in making a point. They’re free and independent and are not living in poverty. What you’re saying is simply ridiculous. No, the reason for the fire was something else.”

Sansa, who felt the pressure of a massive headache arise in her head, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Whatever the cause may be, we will find whoever did this.”

Sansa stared into the fire of her scholar. Her stiff shoulders hurt, and her head felt like it was about to explode. There were so many things on her mind that it was hard to grasp a single thought. She was so far away that she didn’t even notice Gendry, who had knocked on the door and had entered her scholar.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned swiftly, a hand ready at the long end of her necklace that she still couldn’t leave in her room, even after her coronation. Gendry looked at the sharp end in between her fingers.

“I’m sorry, I thought you heard me.”

“Don’t be, I was just thinking.”

He chuckled and walked over to her desk and filled a cup with wine, offering it to her.

Sansa gratefully took it from him. “We’ll worry about the granaries tomorrow. How’s life faring for you, Lord of the Stormlands?”

Gendry, who had taken place in the other chair by the fire, took a long deep gulp from his own cup. “Many boring responsibilities, I fear.”

Sansa snorted, not in a very ladylike fashion, but she had thrown any courtesy rules out of the window. She knew Gendry wouldn’t judge her.

“Have you heard of Arya?”

His smile vanished as soon as the name of his ex-lover fell. “No. Not a word.”

Sansa’s smile had faded also, and she returned her gaze to the fire. “Me neither.”

“Did she forget about us, Sansa? Do you think she misses us?”

“I know she does, but Arya will always be Arya. It’s easier to tame a wild hog than get her to do what she doesn’t want to do.”

Sansa looked at Gendry and reached over, taking his hand in hers. It wasn’t usual for her to initiate any contact. She kept her distance and valued her personal space, but this was Gendry.

“Don’t give up on her yet, Gendry. She needs time.”

He sighed. “We all do, Sansa. We all do.”

Later that night, when the logs in her chimney were already burned down and reduced to glimmering ashes, Sansa was still awake. She looked up at the dark ceiling of her room. Her fingers felt cold against the fur over her blanket and her hair was uncomfortably stuck somewhere under her shoulder, but she didn’t care. She had slept on stone and mud on her way to castle Black after she had escaped Ramsey.

A shiver went down her spine. Not a shiver of fear or disgust that usually came when she remembered all those terrible things the Bolton heir had done to her. No, it was… somehow warm and familiar. As if a soothing thought washed over her and lessened all her worries. There was this warmth in her bones, muscles and veins. And slowly, her eyes fell close, a name on her lips. _Jon_.


	2. A silent Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Clouds in the sky and the threat against Sansa rises and a return of old Friends.

_Winterfell…_

Sansa had stopped praying a long time ago. She had learnt that, no matter how often and desperately she prayed, it was of no use. The gods never answered her prayers and she had to do it herself rather than waiting for help from above. Yet, since Jon had left and she had taken the crown, she found that the Godswood was the only place in all of Winterfell, where she could find a moment of peace. The weirwood tree was covering her from eyesight, while she sat beneath its red leaves and listened to their silent whispers. She always believed that the tree was talking to her, and when she listened closely enough, she swore the leaves would whisper to her. The whispers soothed her pain and worries for a little bit of time.

Sansa stared into the red sea of leaves above her, sighing heavily. Out of nowhere, a black raven appeared, as if it flew through a secret door in the grey sky and landed on a tree branch. With curious, black eyes the raven crowed gently, turning its head from left to right, as if it wanted to ask if she was alright or not.

After the night king, white walkers, dragons and a brother who was the three-eyed raven, Sansa surely was no longer one to question anything, she simply accepted. She knew Bran had sent the raven.

The raven flapped its silky black wings and fluttered from the branch and landed on her knee. The eyes, so clever and intelligent, took her in. Sansa carefully lifted her hand and offered it to the raven, which nudged it with its head. Now, she was sure Brand had sent it.

Sansa was mesmerized by the silky feeling of the feathers beneath her fingers. Somehow, she had always imagined touching a bird would leave a greasy feeling on her fingers, but she was proven wrong. The feathers were cold and soft, like the finest silk. The raven crowed silently and made a small cooing sound.

“I’m alright, little brother.” Sansa said, while she stroked the black feathering of the raven. “Though, I could use your advice right now.” _But I would rather have Jon’s. _

The raven gave her a sharp little crow before it flew back into the sky and Sansa felt a little lighter, as if Bran took a bit of her worries with him. She closed her eyes and put her hand on the rough bark of the weirwood tree.

“Lady Sansa!”

Cara, one of her handmaids, hurried down the path, holding a scroll in her hand. She was out of breath when she came to a screeching halt in front of Sansa. Her blond hair was tousled and even a little twig was sticking out of her braid. She must have taken the path directly through the trees.

“A scroll arrived for you.”

Sansa’s heart made a hopeful leap. “From Jon?”

A shadow of confusion hushed over Cara’s face, before it quickly disappeared. “Um, no my lady, it has arrived from the capital this morning.”

Cara offered her the scroll and Sansa took it from her. Unsure what to do, Cara waited for further instructions nervously. She was relatively new in Sansa’s service and just like everyone else, she had no idea what was going on in their queen’s head. She was always as cold as ice and never let on her emotions. Ever since she was crowned, the high-born lords, ladies and her advisors, were baffled by the mystery that Sansa was to them.

Looking up at Cara, Sansa made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “You can leave, Cara. Thank you for bringing me the scroll.”

“I will ready a bath for you, my lady. You have a meeting with the local farmers this afternoon.”

At this, Sansa had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes and dismissed Cara, with a wave of her hand. Sansa broke the raven that was now the sigil of her brother Bran the Broken, first of his name and king of the six realms.  
  


_Sansa, _

_You will find a friend and a foe in your ranks. Follow the voices, listen and you will understand. _   
  


_ Your brother,_  
Bran  
  


What in the world was he talking about now? Sansa sighed and crumbled the scroll back together. A foe in her ranks? _Oh, little brother_, she thought bitterly, _I already know about the foe_.

She stared into the sky. “And what am I supposed to do now?”

Sansa was absolutely fed up with all of Bran’s cryptic messages. Why couldn’t he, for once in his life, not be a little more specific? _Damn it_. Still pondering over the words Bran wrote her, she made her way back to Winterfell. She had more pressing matters at hand.

By noon, Sansa had to fight down the urge to murder someone. She had had enough of all those high-born lords talking down to her like she was some stupid little girl, like she hadn’t fought and won back Winterfell and the independence of the North. Here she was, bearing all her battle scars, on her body and mind, and yet she had to fight tooth and nail for a scrap of respect.

“What will we do? There isn’t a bag of grain left and we have to cover at least three months’ time worth until new grain can be reaped!”

“What about the free folk? Or the Night’s Watch?”

Sansa’s head shot up at the mention of the free folk. They had given Jon and the rest of the wildlings enough sacks of grain to survive a few months and Castle Black would have plenty of provisions, too.

“The wildlings are too far away from us. Before they would arrive, we would already face the food shortage.” Gendry said, a deep frown on his face.

He looked over at Sansa, who sat in her chair in front of the fire. “Sansa, what would you suggest?”

“I agree with you, Gendry. The free folk is too far out of reach, we would face a food shortage before we could get help from them. Castle Black is closer and easier to contact.”

“What about Jon Snow?” A faceless voice asked, and a murmur went through the hall.

“What about him?” Sansa asked cautiously.

“Isn’t he king beyond the wall? It is his duty to aid you, queen Sansa.”

The Lord who had spoken before stepped out of the crowd. He was younger than the others, probably a son of a father who had recently died or had given the responsibility of speaking for the house to his son. Sansa leaned slightly forward and studied his face. He was young, about her age with unruly dark hair and unusual eyes, one brown and one blue.

“Forgive me, my Lord, what is your name?”

He bowed his head. “There is nothing to forgive, your grace.” He straightened and stepped forward. “My name is Ryon of house Forrester. My father sent me to represent the remains of our house.”

Sansa motioned for him to come closer. “House Forrester was always loyal to my family, I owe you and your family gratitude, Lord Forrester.”

“Please, your grace, my father is still the head of the house Forrester. I’m merely here to represent my family.” Ryon said, a little sheepishly with a tint of red on his cheeks.

“Don’t belittle yourself, Lord Ryon. You are part of your honorable house and you are here to represent it. You and your family will always have a voice in my halls.”

He bowed once more, a little too fast and he swayed slightly, before he caught himself. “Thank you, your grace.”

Sansa gestured for him to continue. “Please, speak. I am thankful for any advice.”

Ryon cleared his throat and seemed uneasy at the perspective of talking in front of so many people.

“I only meant that Jon Snow, king beyond the wall or not, owes Winterfell a debt. You saved his life during his time being a captive at the capital. It should be his duty to repay you.”

“Out of the way, boy.” Lord Hardborne pushed his way out of the crowd, effectively shoving Ryon to the side, sending him stumbling into Gendry. “When will you finally execute a decision? We have been waiting two days already. My pantries are rapidly emptying.”

“Not only yours, Lord Hardborne.” Sansa reminded him sharply. Sansa turned to Gendry. “Gendry, would you take a party of your trusted soldiers and ride for Castle Black as soon as you can?”

Gendry nodded determined. “Of course. Give me an hour.”

“Castle Black will not have enough supplies to cover the months until summer.” Lord Hardborne hissed with disdain dripping from every word. “This is the best idea you have?”

Sansa had to fight down the urge to claw at Lord Hardbone’s eyes with her bare fingernails.

“Watch your mouth, you ungrateful bastard.” Gendry grabbed the older man by the edge of his robe and pulled him closer. “I’ve had enough of your fucking mouth around San-,”

Sansa shot up from her seat. “Enough!”

She gave her two guards a sharp nod and they went directly for Lord Hardborne, grabbung him by the elbows forcefully.

“What are you doing? Let me go, you imbeciles!”

“Please escort Lord Hardborne out of Winterfell.”

Sansa watched while her guards dragged a spitting and cursing Lord Hardborne out of the great hall, confused and concerned faces watched him.

“My Lords, I know the situation strains all of us, it worries me more than I can tell you, but we have to stand together. We are Northmen, in time of need, we will always find a way.”

The door had barely shut behind Gendry, before Sansa whirled around, her dark blue robe and red hair billowing behind her. Her grey eyes were burning with anger.

“What was that about, Gendry?”

Gendry, who was still boiling and ready to kill that bastard of Hardborne for the blatant disrespect he showed Sansa, was agitated himself.

“What do you mean?”

During the months they had formed their friendship, Gendry had learnt that Sansa’s cool and passive demeanor was a façade, and that beneath that façade, she was like molten fire.

“I’m talking about you and Hardborne! Attacking him in front of the other lords? That wasn’t very clever, Gendry.”

“He was blatantly disrespecting you, Sansa! He questioned you in front of everyone.”

Sansa sighed and threw her crown onto her desk in sheer frustration. “Hardborne tried to undermine my reign since the day I was crowned. Gendry, showing him that his behavior gets to you _empowers_ his actions, that’s what he wants.”

Gendry, frustrated beyond anything he had even felt when Arya had left him after his proposal, bowed his head in shame and anger at the same time. He knew Sansa was right. He would be an idiot to think she wasn’t.

“Sansa, you cannot allow this. You’re the queen, a man like Hardborne could be dangerous to you, and not because you are a woman. A man like Hardborne could be dangerous to _any_ king or queen.”

Sansa walked over to him and quickly embraced him, resting her head on Gendry’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Gendry.”

He snorted, and put his hands on her back, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulders. “And here I thought I was acting stupid.”

Sansa hid her smile in his chest and let go of him. “You were.”

After a while, she let go of him and walked over to her desk, sitting down behind it. Gendry waited patiently, watched her graceful fingers scribble hasty words across fresh parchment before she sealed it with red wax.

“Here, take this in case you run into any trouble.”

Gendry took the paper from her. “I will try to get back as soon as possible.”

Sansa gave him a tired smile. “Please be careful and come back soon.”

Long after Gendry was gone, Sansa stared into the gleaming pile of wood inside her fireplace, before she grabbed another piece of paper. She took a deep breath, before she dipped the tip of her quill back into the ink.

_Tarth_…

Brienne would never get used to people bowing to her, treating her like the noble born woman she was. She was used to scorn and derision, but here on Tarth, people were kind and calm tempered and she certainly wasn’t used to wearing dresses. On Tarth, people were dressed in light fabrics that shimmered in the sun and allowed the light breeze coming from the ocean to cool the body. Admittingly, she didn’t feel as much of a yokel as she did when she was forced to wear other dresses. Not that someone forced her to wear a dress, it was just that Tarth had a far more accommodating climate than the north, or anywhere else she had been.

Her father, still the same gentle man she had left behind years ago, was torn between furiously angry at her bravery and talent to get involved in the messiest situations or telling everyone, without exception, about her participation in how she saved the world. And Jaime… oh, her exceptional, goofy and humble-hearted Jaime with his lion-like soul, who was just as proud of her as her father was. Their relationship had developed from something shy and timid at first into a bond that could defy the world and gravitation itself, if it wanted to tear them apart. But the things that happened to them, the things they had witnessed, left scars on both, Jaime and Brienne and they would need time to heal. Jaime mostly, who was still plagued by the guilt of finally understanding that Cersei was like a sickness in him, poisoning him from the inside out until there would have been nothing left, would often wake up at night in cold sweat next to her.

Brienne watched Jaime with a proud smile on her face while he, with all his acting talent, grabbed his chest where the imaginary sword of a young boy with golden hair had hit him, and crumbled to his knees. He coughed and moaned in pain until he fell onto his back. Jaime was fantastic around the children running around Evenfall hall, of course, as soon as they had heard that the legendary knight was now living on Tarth, there was no use in trying to stop them from following Jaime everywhere he went.

“Lady Brienne! Ser Jaime!”

Brienne looked over her shoulder and saw Wulf, a young man that served in the guard of her father, running towards them.

“A letter arrived for both of you.”

Jaime was on his feet almost immediately and patted the pouting boy on the head, whispering something to him only meant for his ears, before he jogged to his wife’s side.

“Who sent it, love?” Jaime asked and watched while Brienne broke the seal.

“From Bran.”

Brienne looked up at Wulf, thanking him before allowing him to depart. Jaime’s brows shot up in surprise and he sat down next to his wife on the stone bench.

“Is it about Drogon?”

Brienne quickly shook her head when she heard the worry in Jaime’s voice. She knew the dragon was one of the things he worried most about. Brienne gave Jaime the letter and he quickly read the few words on the paper.

“You know I have a keen mind, my lady, but this is beyond my understanding.”

She sighed. “I think we have to pack.”

_Winterfell…_

It was already past any hour anyone, besides the guards at the doors, was awake inside Winterfell’s walls. Anyone except Sansa. After tossing and turning in her bed, trying to slip into sleep, she had given up with a frustrated sigh. The restless state of her mind had already taken over her body. Parts of Winterfell were still under construction, while others were already done mostly. She walked past doors that were once so familiar to her, and Sansa remembered that she mostly knew what was behind every door, when she had been a child. Now, the halls felt cold and strange.

The courtyard was empty, a few lone soldiers walked past her and bowed their head, before they hurried to whatever they wanted to do next. Sansa walked past the cells where she had sent Ramsay into his death and where she had watched his blood spill everywhere. Past the walls that were breached by the dead and destroyed by an equally dead dragon. Outside, where the flames that the red woman had ignited, lit up the dark night before all hell broke loose… all those memories came back to Sansa with each step she took.

She entered the Godswood the second time this day. The same soothing calm she had felt earlier in the morning settled over her like a warm blanket. She looked into the smooth surface of the pond, reflecting the stars, the moon and the red leaves of the weirwood tree above. She knelt and settled at the edge of the pond. With one finger, Sansa carefully touched the cool water and watched the ripples, slowly stretching across the water.

Somehow, Sansa realized that life was like the water in the pond. Sometimes it was smooth and unmoving, without any change or disruption, but out of nowhere something happened that sent ripples through it.

Sansa closed her eyes and listened into the silence of the woods around her, slowing her breathing and heartbeat with it. When she opened her eyes, the surface of the water was smooth once more and behind her, stood a dark shadow with a dagger raised high in the air. The blade shimmered silver in the moonlight and Sansa whirled around, reaching for her necklace and not finding it around her throat. The dagger soared downwards, and she screamed. A flash of grey shot out of the thick undergrowth and white fangs tore flesh apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay, here’s chapter 2 already! :) I hope you all enjoyed reading it and I hope I’ll get chapter 3 finished before school starts again next Monday. 
> 
> A little note here, yes, I know according to Wikia Ryon is a child, but I used the magic of fanfiction here. ;) 
> 
> I am so overwhelmed by the positive feedback on the first chapter, it seriously blew my mind and I was walking around with the biggest of smiles on my face the whole day.^^   
As always, tell me what you think in the comments, leave me a kudo, a comment and subscribe to find out what happens next!
> 
> Xoxo Alessandra


	3. Nymeria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, Sansa, Nymeria and other catastrophes…

_Beyond the wall…_  
  
“Have you heard it?”

“Heard what?”

“You didn’t hear it?”

“Heard _what_?”

Jon took a deep breath, or else he would throw the hammer at the two wildlings, arguing since _sunrise_ beneath the house he was currently finishing. Tormund shot him an amused look, knowing exactly what was going on inside Jon’s mind right now.

“Come on, _everyone_ knows! How could you not know?”

_I certainly don’t know and don’t _want_ to know it. _Jon bit his tongue and continued to drive nails into the wood.

“Spit it out already! Seven hells, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

Jon huffed. He couldn’t agree more. Was it too much to ask for a little peace and quietness in the morning?

“Alright, alright, you’re in a mood today. Listen, you won’t believe it. The men at Castle Black said that the queen was attacked a few nights ago. In the middle of the godswood, can you believe it?”

Jon unerringly hit his hand instead of the nail, when the words left the mouth of the wildling down below.

“Seven hells! Are you serious?”

“Yes! He tried to kill her, sneaked up on her and tried to slit her throat that son of a bitch.”

Tormund halted mid-hit himself, his blue eyes wide and the expression on his face told Jon that he was just as shocked to hear it. Tormund and Sansa, against Jon’s expectation, had gotten along well and even formed an almost friend-like bond over their shared friendship with Jon. _Sansa_. Attacked. Ambushed. Almost dead.

In a flash, Jon had climbed down the stairs, Tormund close behind him. The wildlings, two brothers Jon now recognized, looked a little baffled when they saw a very angry king beyond the wall, storm towards them like an angry bull. Ready to steamroll any- and everything in his path.

“When?”

“What?”

At the dumbfounded tone in their voices, Jon lost the single last thread of patience and grabbed Erican, the younger brother, by his collar.

“The attack, when did it happen? What happened?” With each question, Jon shook the man back and forth, as if the answer would come out of his mouth faster that way.

“Tell him!” Tormund bellowed, while he pulled Jon off Erican. “What happened?”

“Who told you?” Jon made another grab for him, but Tormund stopped him. “Who?!”

Erican looked from Tormund to Jon, probably deciding if Tormund was the saner option to talk to, so he would live to see another day.

Stammering, Erican quickly rendered what he had heard. “The men at Castle Black-, a good friend of mine was among the party for the food exchange, they talked about some fires that destroyed the granaries and about the queen, said she was attacked. I swear, that was all he told me!”

As soon as the last word left his mouth, Erican grabbed his brother and they fled from. Jon felt the familiar tightening in his chest, the rise of panic while the world slowly slipped further and further away. Sansa… someone had attacked her, and he wasn’t at her side to protect her. His breath came out in short, shallow gasps and he started to stagger on his feet.

“Jon! Jon, you have to calm down…”

It was too much… all of it. _Sansa… Sansa…_

“Jon! Calm down, take a deep breath!”

_Naila_? Jon coughed and wheezed, his chest was getting tighter, it squeezed his lungs and heart into the size of tiny rocks.

“What happened, Tormund?”

His knees hit the wet ground and Jon could barely hold himself up anymore, only Tormund’s strong hold on him prevented him from falling face first into the mud. The last thing on Jon’s mind was red hair and a wolf, before his world went black.

“Sansa...”

“Jon?”

Jon squinted his eyes and tried to move his heavy limbs. Where was he? What happened?

“Jon.”

Sansa? She couldn’t be here or was he with her? Had he died and was now a ghost, watching over her?

“Jon.” Someone slapped him. Hard. “Jon, open your eyes. Everything is okay.”

His eyes flew open and he regretted that decision immediately. The grey daylight that flooded the wooden hut pierced his eyes like arrows and he groaned in pain, turning his head away from the light.

“What happened?”

Was that his voice? It was rough and shaking. Naila reached over and took a cup with cold water and gave it to him. In greedy gulps, Jon had downed the heavenly cold water and while it soothed the raw ache in his throat, his eyes slowly accommodated to the light.

Naila sat on the edge of the cot and Tormund leant with folded arms against the wall, his face a mask of worry and dark circles beneath his eyes.

“What- what happened?”

Naila looked at Tormund as if she wasn’t sure if she should tell him or not. Tormund only gave her a curt nod.

“You fainted.”

Jon slowly sat up, ignoring the ache in his joints. “How long was I-,“

“Asleep?” Naila took the cup from him and refilled it. “Two whole days. You needed it, obviously.”

Two days? He could have been well on his way to Winterfell. _Seven hells_! He threw his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Jon, no, you’re too weak.” Naila pushed him back. “Eat and rest, then no one will stop you from going to her.”

Confused, Jon looked at Tormund, who just shrugged. “I told her. Didn’t think it was that much of a secret anyway.”

“Sansa-,” He started to protest but Naila cut him off. “Is the queen of Winterfell and according to the men at Castle Black, heavily guarded at the moment and well.”

“How do you know?”

Naila rolled her eyes. “Because I sent a raven, knowing fully well that you wouldn’t let anyone else talk some sense into you, as long as you didn’t know if she was alright.”

Naila jabbed her finger painfully into his chest. “We’ll prepare your horse and some food for the way, _only_ if you agree to rest at least another day without lifting as much as a single finger, understood?”

Reluctantly, Jon moved back until his head hit the pillow.

“Fine.” He yanked the blanket back over his legs. “_One_ day.”

Naila sighed and patted his shoulder. “Remember, no standing up, no arguing, _nothing_.”

“Fine-, what?” Jon growled, looking from Naila to Tormund and back to her. “I already said fine.”

“I’ll bring you soup.” She squeezed his arm gently, before she stood and hurried out of the hut.

Jon sighed and punched the soft mattress. “I hate this.”

Tormund moved to the side of the bed, pulling a chair close. “You can’t ride like this. You can’t help her right now, at least not while you’re still exhausted.”

“She needs me, Tormund.”

Tormund patted Jon’s arm compassionately. “I know. Rest and you’ll be by her side in a few days.”

_Winterfell…_  
  
Sansa watched Nymeria tear into the raw meat, growling and yipping, while she ripped the flesh off the bone. Since the attack on her a week ago, Nymeria hadn’t left her side. She wouldn’t enter Winterfell like Ghost or Lady had, when she was still alive, but she was patrolling the inner yard day and night. Whenever Sansa left the safety of the walls, Nymeria was her shadow. Her guardsmen, by now used to the wolf’s presence, let the huge direwolf roam as she wanted.

At first, Sansa thought it had been Ghost jumping between her and the attacker, but when her eyes focused on the coat of the wolf, she knew it wasn’t Ghost. She would recognize the snow-like fur everywhere, adding that the wolf in front of her had two intact ears, was the final clue. Kicking and screaming, the assassin had freed his torn arm from Nymeria’s fangs and fled into the godswood, leaving a trail of blood and tissue behind.

Only then, when Nymeria had turned around to face her, her muzzle and fur covered in blood, Sansa had recognized her. She never had much to do with her sister’s direwolf and was too much of a spoilt child to understand the wild nature her sister and her Nymeria shared. Now, Sansa understood. The moment she looked into those brown eyes, curious and understanding, she had instantly recognized her. Nymeria had Arya’s eyes.

Watching Nymeria happily lick her chomps after her meal, Sansa mused if it had been Bran who sent the direwolf, or if the Stark’s mystical bond with their direwolves had called upon Nymeria for help. Either way, Sansa was glad for her return, or else she probably wouldn’t be here to think about it.

Nymeria was a wild guard. She didn’t let anyone near Sansa for less than two feet, unless Sansa told her to do so. The obedience that Nymeria showed her commands was surprising, especially to Sansa. Wandering around Winterfell with a direwolf once more by her side made Sans feel a little more like herself again. _If only Jon was there, too. _She knew he hadn’t forgiven her, she would never ask it of him. She had betrayed his trust and pushed him into a position, a very dangerous one, in which he simply had to act and couldn’t be passive anymore. But somehow, she thought he would be proud of her, seeing her own her wolf blood like the trueborn Stark she was.

Warmer weather came from the south and pushed the clouds in the sky away and revealed the first true sunshine of the new year. Sansa sat in it, enjoyed its warmth while pondering over lists of grain and food traffics. Cattle, chicken, goats… they mostly enough to produce meat, milk and cheese, but the grain was running thin already. The first villagers had already pleaded for aid since they ran out of it and couldn’t buy any at the market, for most of the farmers couldn’t sell the few sacks of grain they had left anymore.

Robyn was already on his way back with as much grain as he could spare, but it wasn’t enough to cover until the reap. Also, the men at Castle Black had less stock as she had hoped for. They were slowly but surely facing a catastrophe. Once more, Sansa asked herself, what would Jon do? Surely, he would try to find positive and uplifting words to stir hope within the people, but she wasn’t Jon. She didn’t have the same ability to form friendships and evoke sympathy during the first meeting, simply exchanging words. That person had been and was always Jon

Sansa sighed and Nymeria, now by her feet and resting her heavy belly, nudged her leg. The queen looked down and offered her hand to the wolf, knowing that usually Nymeria didn’t like to be touched, but would seek contact if offered. Her heavy head pressed against Sansa’s hand.

“Happy?”

Nymeria made the funniest sound, something between a growl and a happy whine, while her tail waggled against the ground. Sansa smiled down at the direwolf. _Obviously_. She halted for a moment. _But am I happy_? The answer was… she had no idea. She didn’t know happiness anymore. Sansa couldn’t remember being happy, so happy that she felt light like a feather. Only… only once, when she had been reunited with Jon. The exhaustion, the nightmares, the horrors and hardship fell off her, once she had jumped into his arms. There, she had been happy for a while.

Would she be happy with a husband? Could she even bear to be married once more, having to share her personal space, her body and thoughts with another man? As a child, Sansa knew it was her duty to marry, give her prince heirs to fill the halls of Winterfell and to do her duty as a wife. She didn’t know how many of her advisors, her cousin and Lord Royce included, had already pestered her with a wedding and gave their best efforts to find a suited husband. Yet, Sansa had declined all of them.

She would live, she would reign, she would die lonely. That was her way. She had thought about taking in an orphaned child, one unburdened by the sins of houses and ancestors, but Sansa knew an adopted child would face enormous hindrances in the future, while sitting on the throne. No, she didn’t want that. She had enough time to think about the future, she should keep her mind in the here and now. _Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind_. She did, but what about the battle within her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I cannot put my joy into words at how happy I am that you are enjoying the story so much! This is more than I ever hoped for, all your kind reviews and comments drive me to write this story in a hopefully decent pace. I cannot thank you all enough for your encouraging words, despite having two very unpleasant happenings in the comments already, I couldn’t care less because of your amazing words! <3 Thank you!  
As always, leave me a comment, tell me what you think, subscribe so you won’t miss an update, leave me a kudo and visit me on my Tumblr. Blog, I’m going to link it down below. I would love to hear from you there, too! 
> 
> https://callmealessandra.tumblr.com/
> 
> Explanation to the chapter following, you can read, but you don’t have to:  
1\. Nymeria: Yes, I know… Nymeria is Aria’s direwolf and Sansa never had anything to do with her when they were kids yada, yada… Sansa grew into such a brave, strong woman and left that dreamy-girly girl she once was long behind her. She owned up her Stark heritage and is a true northern woman. The Starks and the direwolves have a deep magical and spiritual connection and with Arya leaving, somehow abandoning her Stark heritage - for now, don’t get angry all Arya fans – Nymeria felt that Sansa was in danger and the last Stark in Winterfell. Or maybe Bran had a hand in it… who knows… I think it’s a thing of personal interpretation, so, I’m leaving that open for everyone to decide for yourself. 
> 
> 2\. Jon’s panic attack and personal feelings: Jon is deeply traumatized, someone trying to tell me he isn’t… is blatantly not aware of human psyche. I was traumatized for months after breaking my shoulder falling from my horse, even today I sometimes wake up in cold sweat because I have a body memory of the fall. Someone who witnessed and went through what Jon went through is NOT okay. Panic attacks, like Jon had, combined with him exhausting himself and not really taking care of himself, we’ll dive into that in a few chapters, can and will lead sooner or later for the body and mind to collapse and we just witnessed that. As many people pointed out that Jon will NEVER forgive Sansa, the script itself says ‘he hasn’t entirely forgiven her’. Never and not entirely are so far apart from each other like earth and sun… well, you get what I’m trying to say. 
> 
> So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, see you all soon! Xoxo Alessandra


	4. The lone wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North calls for help and the Crown answers. Jaime and Brienne return and so does Jon...

_Reign of Wolves_   
_Chapter 4_   
_The lone wolf_

_Beyond the Wall…_

“If anything happens, send a raven to Castle Black. I can help you from Winterfell if anything-,”

“_Nothing_ will happen, Jon.” Naila said and placed her hands on his shoulders, giving him a firm shake. “The walkers are gone, and spring is upon us. We’ll keep building the village until your return.”

Jon stopped in his tracks, hands already on the leather of the stirrup, when Naila’s words made him halt. Come back? He realized he didn’t want to come back. Come back to what? Mud, wood and an empty home? No, he wanted to return to a warm home, with someone to hold within its walls. But he couldn’t. He would never have that outside the Wall.

“Jon, I-,”

Without a warning, Naila pulled him into a tight hug. Not as tight as the ones he always shared with Sansa, but tight enough. She pressed her mouth against his ear and the words she whispered to him were lost in the wind. His eyes widened a little and finally, as if it broke her heart, Naila let go of him and stepped back.

“Go on, help your queen.”

With a heavy heart, Jon swung his leg over Wraith’s back, a black stallion he came to favor over the months of travelling, neighed excitedly. Naila stood on a patch of green grass, a harbinger of spring, and weighed him goodbye. Jon, with his mind on Sansa, spurred Wraith into a leisure gallop.

Naila watched him disappear in the distance and shook her head, while she stared up into the light grey sky. She swore she could smell the faint traces of leather and wood and smiled.

“I swear to the Gods, you men are all the same…”

Shaking her head, she turned around and walked back to the village, while a gentle breeze blew through her hair and accompanied her until she entered the village. Ghost trotted around the corner, ears perked up expectant, as if he demanded an explanation, where Jon went without saying goodbye.

Naila patted the direwolf on the head. “He’ll come and get you when he knows where he belongs.”

Jon travelled until nightfall and only settled, when Wraith refused to take another step. He set his place for the night beneath a few trees and watched the fire in the dark. It had something hypnotizing. He never understood his fascination with fire before. Jon remembered that, as a little boy, he spent hours watching flames. He remembered his father – no, not his father, his _uncle_\- standing behind him with a dark shadow across his worried face. Now, Jon knew why Eddard Stark watched him all the time, while he stared into the flames. There was fire in his blood. A fire that had consumed his aunt at the end. Jon had believed in her, until the very last moment.

He wouldn’t say he had used her, to a certain point, at least. He had admired her, the girl from nothing who managed to bear three dragons, command an army, free slaves and give hope. He had admired _that_ Daenerys, not the woman who wanted to undermine his parentage, keep it a secret and bend him to her will. A woman who, out of hatred for one person, burnt an entire city to the ground. A woman who threatened Sansa.

At the memory, deep rooted anger stirred within him. The moment he had realized Daenerys would kill Sansa if she wouldn’t bend the knee, was also the moment he made his decision. Angry and overwhelmed by the memories, he threw another log into the fire. The past was the past, he would help Sansa and after, he would go back into exile. Even if it broke his heart all over again.

_Winterfell…_

Sansa stared down at the villagers spilling into the yard of Winterfell like floodwater. She saw it coming weeks prior, but it was sooner than she anticipated. She hadn’t had the time or resources to plan for this mass of people.

“So many.”

Cara whispered astonished as she looked down at the never-ending flood of people entering Winterfell’s inner yard.

“I’ve seen worse.”

Sansa felt Cara’s gaze upon her. “How did you survive it? I don’t think I could have.”

Sansa stared at her hands, pale against the dark wood. A year ago, she stood here arguing with Jon. It had been so silly, so unimportant. The whole discussion had been ridiculous. She wanted only Jon to protect her and he knew damn well she would never in her dreams undermine him.

“Look at them.” Sansa motioned down at the villagers, huddling together in the yard. “They came here to find hope. They share despite having nothing. That’s how you survive.”

“Is that what you and Jon Snow did, to stay alive? Stay together and share?”

Sansa breathed in the cold northern air. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

Sansa turned on her heels without a word and disappeared into the dark halls of Winterfell, like a ghost. Cara stared after her queen, pondering over her words. The pack survives but the lone wolf dies? She gathered her skirts and hurried to the opposite direction.

_King’s Landing…_

“Land, ho!”

Jaime and Brienne watched the sailors hurry onto deck to ready to the ship for entering the port. Jaime was anxious, with a turbulent mixture of feelings. He hadn’t seen the red walls of the keep in over a year. Many of the towers hadn’t been rebuilt yet, but he saw the scaffolds surrounding his former home. Bran the broken was obviously very busy rebuilding the keep to its former glory.

“Are you alright?”

Brienne wasn’t very affectionate around him when other people were present, but he was thankful for her hand on his shoulder, giving him the quiet reassurance, he needed.

“Yes, it’s just… memories.”

Brienne squeezed his shoulder gently and gave him a weary smile. “I know.”

“I never thought I would return.”

Brienne was silent for a while. She knew that Jaime, despite ridding himself from Cersei’s poison years ago, had loved his sister deeply and all consumingly. He would have, at some point, burnt down the world for her. It certainly hadn’t made it any easier for him and Brienne knew that. She knew her husband, had learnt a lot about him and the fact that he had risen before sunrise, was very much a telltale of his restlessness and anxiety he felt upon going back.

“It is still your home, Jaime. We can’t turn our back on our home, no matter how hard we try.”

Jaime gave her his trademark smirk and all of the sudden, she was pressed into the railing, his harms on either side of hers.

“What-?”

Before she had any chances to protest, he pressed a quick, but deep kiss onto her lips.

“I love you, wench.”

Brienne rubbed her nose against his affectionately, the motion was the boldest one she could muster in front of all the gaping sailors.

“I love you too, husband.”

The ship docked and was secured to the port, and the bridge lowered. Jaime was the first one to walk down, only to be greeted by a very familiar face. Dressed in simple leather breaches and, despite being the master of coin, with a sword by his side – was Bronn. His unruly dark hair was longer than Jaime remembered.

“Jaime Lannister, I never thought I’d see you again, I must say.” When Bronn noticed Brienne behind her husband, he bowed his head in her direction. “And lady Brienne, what a pleasure.”

“Don’t tell me the king made the master of coin come all the way to the port to greet my wife and I.”

Jaime said suspiciously and watched while Bronn shouldered Brienne’s kitbag. The former mercenary had changed.

“Of course, he did.” Bronn said over his shoulder. “Off we go, the king is already waiting for you.”

On their way through the streets, Jaime noticed the change within the city. The year under Bran the Broken had healed many wounds. The people, once gruff and rude and hostile, now stood together laughing and talking. Children ran through the streets with books in their arms. The streets were clean, no longer full of trash and waste, the smell of the city was certainly no longer marked by piss and shit.

“Remarkable what a year can do, right?”

Bronn must have noticed Jaime’s surprise and fell back, walking besides him. _Yes, _he thought_, it was._

“King Bran does a lot for the people. King’s Landing now has a school, for rich and poor alike. Too less brothels for my taste, but you can’t have everything at once, right?”

Jaime had to grin at this. The mercenary hadn’t changed so much, after all.

“Bronn, is it true what we heard about the North?” Brienne’s voice was strained above the noise of the city around them. “The letter we received from his majesty wasn’t exactly…” She was looking for the right word to articulate the absolute cryptic mess of a letter they had received weeks prior. “Expressive.”

Bronn shrugged. “Who knows. The North is an independent kingdom. We haven’t heard from queen Sansa in over a year.”

“Sansa is still Bran’s sister.” Jaime reminded them. “Of course, he will help her, no matter what.”

Brienne gave him a pointed look. “I am sure king Bran will enlighten us in a bit.”

Bran the Broken hadn’t changed a bit since Jaime and Brienne had last seen him. Unlike the tradition, he did not receive them inside the great hall, but within the seclusion of the small council’s rooms. Jaime sat next to his wife, while Bran was pushed to the head of the table by Podrick. The young knight gave Brienne a beaming smile and proudly presented his golden armor to her. They exchanged a few curt words before Podrick bowed and announced he would return soon.

Once they were alone, Jaime didn’t waste any time. “Your majesty, your letter was rather _cryptic_.” His golden hand made a sound dull sound as it hit the wood of the table. “Why have you ordered our return?”

Bran’s dark eyes landed on Jaime and it still sent a shiver down his back. “I apologize for the trouble I caused you both, but I trust no other to handle this task. Lady Brienne,” Bran bowed his head in her direction in a gesture of respect. “I know you were my sister’s sworn guard and loyal protector.”

“I was, your majesty and I will always remain so.” Brienne said fiercely, her blue eyes ablaze and her face stern.

“The North has pleaded for aid during times of need and the crown will heed this plea. I trust you, both of you. You will depart by sunrise. Help my sister, I know she will need it in the days to come.”

_Winterfell…_

The fading daylight was Sansa’s companion while she and Nymeria made their way through the Godswood. Despite many urgent pleas from advisors and Cara, Sansa hadn’t given up on going into the Godswood. Her head was bursting with thoughts and worries and even the seclusion of her private chambers couldn’t bring the thoughts in order. Sansa felt safe, she had Nymeria with her. The weirwood tree was welcoming her with much needed silence. Silence she had craved throughout the day. Entitled lords who thought themselves above everyone, including herself, hungry and desperate farmers and all of them had different opinions on how _she_ should handle the situation.

During her stay in King’s Landing, Sansa learnt what it felt like to be powerless, during her time with Ramsay, she learnt what it felt like to be truly terrified. During the long night, she learnt what it meant to fear for the lives of her loved ones. She went through so much, learnt so much and became so much more than she ever imagined and yet, here she was, _helpless_. Sometimes, during her lowest hour, she truly wished for Littlefinger’s advice. She repeated his words within her head many times, Cersei’s words and when the voices of her old mentors wouldn’t help her anymore, she would think of Jon.

Sansa sat in silence beneath the weirwood leaves and listened into the silence. Her head cleared. It felt like thick fog lifted and she could see the pieces clearly. A sudden gust of wind ruffled Sansa’s hair and behind her, a twig snapped. Nymeria jumped to up but wouldn’t go into the crouched pose she assumed before she attacked. Her fur wasn’t raised, only her ears were perked.

“Sansa…”

The rough murmur, so familiar, yet so far away like she was in a dream, made her blood freeze in her veins. Sansa turned and looked over her shoulder and there he was. Enveloped in his black cloak, his hair longer than she remembered it and long claw by his side. Sansa had seen him like this countless times, his dark eyes so full of emotions, his lips set in a grim line

His name left her lips in an icy whisper. “Jon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright you guys, I am soooo sorry for taking so long. First half of my school year is over now and it’s truly kicking my butt, but it’s worth it and I have fun, despite having no social life whatsoever during the week.^^  
I want to thank you all so much for the amazing feedback you all gave me, your kind comments when anti’s slipped into the comment section instead of my DM’s, how dare they? :D  
Well, without further ado, leave me a comment, tell me what you think and subscribe to find out, where these two fools in love will go from here on.  
I wish you all a merry Christmas and, as I’m pretty sure I won’t manage to upload before New Year's Eve, an amazing start into 2020 and a happy new year! Love you all! – xoxo Alessandra

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys… um… yeah, this is my try to let out my inner Jonsa muse. I just can’t handle these two and I think the season didn’t give them the ending they deserved and so I decided, oh well, give them one you want them to have. I am not a hardcore GOT fan, so please be lenient with me when I make mistakes in the world setting or something like that.^^  
A few side notes: Yes, this is kinda non-canonish, Jaime Lannister did survive and had the ending he deserved together with our favorite knight and sooner or later, we will meet them, too. 😊  
I hope you all enjoyed the 1st chapter, subscribe, leave me a kudo and a review. The next chapters will be longer. Oh, before I forget, I am from Germany, so please forgive me any mistakes or grammar errors.  
I hope you all enjoyed the story so far! XoXo Alessandra


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